In the hush between who I was 
and who I am learning to be,
my twenties bloomed-
a meadow of chances, 
some wild, some weary,
all necessary.
There were  nights 
when the sky felt too wide,
and I felt too small-
Yet even then,
I learned to find comfort
in my own quiet breathing. 
I met versions of myself
I had never been introduced to
the brave one,
the broken one,
The girl who could laugh even after a storm.
These years are a map of shifting skies,
A chorus of risks, of goodbyes and tries,
Where I gather courage piece by piece,
And craft my calm, and carve my peace.
Now, as I cradle the memory
It feels like a gallery of becoming-
a curated exhibition of chaos and 
blossoming,
where every fracture gleams 
With quiet brilliance of survival.

.    .    .